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“Duncan, please, shut up.” I have such a small window to convince him of the truth of what’s coming I can’t waste it on talk of us or sex or worry about his offended values. “There are more important things to talk about right now, ones that can’t wait.”
“But our souls,” he protests.
“Good lord, man. I get it. I appreciate it, but can we put a pin in it?”
“Put a what in it? I do nae understand.”
I admonish myself for using idioms that probably won’t be invented for another hundred years or whatever.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, waving it away with my hand. “Listen, we can talk about ourselves and what happened later, okay?”
“But—”
I place my hand over his mouth.
“No. No buts. Not now, got it?”
He nods.
“Good.” I chew my lower lip. How do I do this? Knowing I have to get him to understand and having an actual plan to do that aren’t coming together. “You believe in the Fair folk, right?”
“Aye, of course I do.”
“Okay, good.”
He already thinks I might be a witch and at this point, going full in on his belief and superstition may be the only way to make sure he doesn’t end up dead. I can only hope saving his life doesn’t cost me having him for myself but if that’s the price, I’ll pay it.
“But what of it? You cannae be having affairs with them. It’s dangerous. All the tales say so, and it might even be an affront to God.”
“It’s not,” I say without thought. I have no idea if it does or doesn’t offend God, but I reject the idea on principle alone. After all, if God made everything, then he made the Fae too. “But that’s not what matters. I’ve been to the Fae realms.”
“No,” Duncan says, eyes widening. He grabs me and roughly runs his hands up and down my arms, over my face, feeling me as if he’s making sure I’m really here. “Are ya alright? How did ya get home? What happened?”
“I’m fine. Really, stop,” I say, grabbing his arms and forcing him to quit pawing at me like I’m some kind of animal. The rejection on his face fills me with regret but there’s no time for this. “I’m sorry. Listen, we don’t have much time.”
“Time for what?”
“To save you,” I say. “To save your entire clan.”
“My clan? What do ya mean?”
“I tried to tell you,” I say. “You cannot go to battle. You have to stop the clan from going after the Colquhouns. The King of England is looking for an excuse, any excuse, to bring hell down on the MacGregors.”
His face shifts from rejection to cold hard steel. Steel that glints in his eyes, forms the hard line of his clenched jaw, and appears in the corded muscles of his arms.
“If that English bastard wants a fight, then he can come and we’ll give him more than he ever imagined.”
“Duncan, you can’t.”
“I can. We can. You do nae know the MacGregors if’n you think we’ll back down from a fight.”
“It’s not a fight, Duncan. It’s not even a war. It’s going to be a massacre.”
“Aye, it will be,” he agrees grimly. “English blood will water the Highlands.”
“No.” Frustration fills my chest and tears swell in my eyes. “I mean, sure, it will, but not enough. The MacGregors will come out the worse for it. They’ll hunt you down, like animals, chasing you off into the Highlands. They’ll kill any MacGregor on sight.”
“That will nae happen,” he says. “You do nae know my clan. We’ll fight them and we’ll win. They cannae stand against us. They come for the MacGregors and the other clans will rise up with us.”
